


Isolation

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [10]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: Sniper go sniping
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Isolation

_Breathe in._

It was a surprisingly cold day, in late November, and the grass bent before the wind in rolling waves interrupted only by unseen wildlife. The smell of frost rolled down the mountain, but the earth was still soft beneath Bruno where he lay motionless. Waiting.

Graves would have made some inane comment on the weather, probably at length as he was slowly driven mad by the inaction, but he had still been recovering from both his rabies boosters and the stitchwork on his leg when the call had come down from the captain and the usual suspects were dispatched out to the ass end of nowhere with a new mission.

_Breathe out._

The orders were reasonably straightforward; in a week’s time there would be a convoy along the road that wound down through Viang Xai with a VIP riding on the third truck from the rear. It was up to the teams to make sure that VIP never reached his destination. Or if he did, that he wasn’t in any fit state to do anything once he got there.

The two teams would be airdropped into the area from one of the planes on the run scheduled for the area the next night; they had only just enough time to grab the kit he’d need before Jaxun packed them into a jeep and off for the nearby airbase. With any luck, the drop would put them no more than four days away from the target area and they could be in position well before the convoy that particular stretch of road.

_Breathe in._

The trip to the airfield hadn’t been bad, but the reception was…frosty. The flyboys very loudly did not appreciate the extra hour it would take them to drop “some bullet-soaked jarheads” on the target co-ordinates, but there was an undercurrent of something more virulent that spoke of a deeper reason. They made a pointed effort to snub the team as a whole and Bruno in particular, mocking IMAF audibly when he was in range and refusing to speak to him directly when they could at all avoid it.

Their problem, however, was not Bruno’s problem. He knew better than to rise to their distinctly juvenile attempts to rile him - though he did save some of the choicer comments about his division to pass on later to those who would very much care and were in a better position to do something about it. For now, Bruno had a mission and a team and if the clowns in the air force wanted to nurse a stupid grudge they could find another sucker; as long as they delivered them where they needed to be.

_Breathe out._

Whatever their personal feelings, the flyboys were good at their jobs and managed to drop them all almost half a day’s walk closer to the destination than he’d thought they’d manage in between all the snide remarks and cold shoulders. Of course, it helped that none of the team had been able to hear the parting shots over the howl of the wind as they dropped from the open door into freefall.

Bruno enjoyed aerial drops. The feeling of the wind his face, the blood in his ears, and the vistas expanding out below him - it was a silent enjoyment he knew few shared. Most of the rest of the men he’d deployed with over the years were either terrified and watching their altimeters like hawks (Graves) or whooping and hollering in excitement, screwing around - as much as mission parameters allowed - with their trajectories by moving their arms and legs and playing with the air currents that battered them (Weber).

_Breathe in._

After landing safely, it had taken both teams three and a half days to reach the co-ordinates they’d been given. It was a hilly area, with the road cutting through several low points and open to wide grain fields on one side. The heavily forested hills offered good cover but reduced sightlines, and while pursuers would be hampered by brush it wasn’t the kind of protection offered by even a small cliff face.

The road itself wasn’t the most well-traveled, and in the days before the convoy was due to arrive Bruno saw maybe two cars driving along it. Still, the reduction in visibility from the trees meant they would have to find a way to get the convoy to stop or risk missing - and that was entirely unacceptable. Tunstall had worked through a dozen different strategies before metaphorically tossing in the towel and ordering the felling of a number of young trees the night before the designated day and winding them together to form a crude but resilient and natural-looking barrier across the roadway.

_Breathe out._

And then there was no time. Everyone was in position. The noise of the convoy echoed up the road long before the trucks themselves hove into sight. A lead jeep, followed immediately by two cargo trucks that were likely packing rations, given the way the canvas on them was tied in the cross-ties favored by civilians, followed by one of probable munitions, one with the canvas bulging in odd places, another of munitions, another two of food, and a trailing jeep that would occasionally range out to the side of the convoy if the ground wasn’t too torn up.

As the convoy came into sight, Bruno didn’t tense. His finger rested easily along the trigger guard and the scope rested comfortably in front of his face. The sun was behind him, and he’d taken the time to arrange enough shade to prevent any tell-tale winks. The rest of his team had taken up defensive positions, with Hurley’s team further down the road ready with the fallback plan just in case. The butt of the rifle rested easily against his shoulder and the rhythm of his breathing didn’t change. His focus narrowed, the world dropping away as his eyes found a hawk-faced man in plain clothes sitting in the passenger seat of the second to last food truck. The convoy slowed as the leading jeep saw the obstruction. Bruno’s finger drifted to the trigger.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_Squeeze._

**BANG**


End file.
